Join Us: A SupernaturalEvil Dead Crossover
by Misha'sMistress69
Summary: I just wanted to give the Winchester Bro's a hunt like they've never had before and a new and unlikely ally to team up with,
1. Chapter 1

*I do **NOT** own Supernatural or Evil Dead. These two brilliant works of entertainment are the brain children of Eric Kripke and Sam Raimi. I hope you enjoy chapter one of my little story.

**_Join Us_**

A _Supernatural_/_Evil Dead_ Crossover

**Ch. 1: Shelter from the Rain**

The rain beat savagely against the exterior of the '67 Impala like thousands of tiny, angry fists. Dean Winchester's emerald eyes were intensely focused on the road ahead as he struggled to navigate the classic Chevy safely through the torrential downpour. "Christ," he growled, "I can't see a damn thing in this!" Castiel, who had remained silent for the majority of the uneasy ride, leaned forward from the back seat. "Then I suggest we find a safe location to pull over, Dean." Dean snorted. "Well gee, thanks Captain Obvious" he answered, voice oozing sarcasm. Sarcasm that sailed right over the angel's head. "You're welcome" he said stoically, and leaned back in his seat.

Sam Winchester stifled a small laugh. Dean momentarily tore his gaze from the road ahead to glare at his younger brother. "Remind me again why we brought Columbo along." Sam shrugged. "He wanted to learn how to hunt. And what do you mean 'we'? Bringing him was your idea. He's your little boyfriend, remember?"

"He is not my-!" Dean clamped his mouth shut when he realized that his brother was only trying to get his goat and he'd just played right into his hands. "Shut up, bitch." Sam smiled triumphantly. "Whatever, jerk. And don't take it out on Cas just because _you _botched that last hunt."

Dean grimaced. "How was that _my_ fault?" Sam let out one short, loud belly laugh. "You thought that by sleeping with the, admittedly gorgeous, leader of the vampire clan, she would lead you to their nest by bringing you back to it as her new sex toy. Is that what happened, Dean? Did she take you to her little love nest?" Dean didn't answer, he was too busy mentally kicking himself. So, Sam answered for him. "No, Dean, she didn't. Instead, you wake up handcuffed to the bed with your wallet and clothes stolen, and Cas and I have to fight off a hoard of angry vamps by ourselves."

"Let's just drop it, okay?!" Dean hollered. After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat. "And, um, thanks. For, you know, bringing me a pair of undies." Sam sighed. "You're welcome. And that had better be the _only_ time I have to do that."

They rode in silence for a while at a slow, but safe, 30 miles per hour. But their situation grew dire as the rain began to fall harder. "Dean, I think Cas is right," Sam said, "You really should find somewhere to pull over until this rain slows down." Dean's knuckles blanched white as he gripped the steering wheel nervously. "Sammy, I can't even tell where 'over' is!"

Suddenly, Cas leaned forward again. "What is that?" he asked, extending his index finger straight ahead, pointing at something beyond the front windshield. Sam and Dean squinted through the misty rain. "I don't see squat" Dean growled. Castiel lowered his arm dejectedly. "I thought I saw a light."

Dean barked out a half-hysterical laugh. "Oh, great. Now he's seeing a light. It's official, we're dead. I ran us off of the road and killed us all. We're dead." Sam waved off Dean's rambling. "Wait a sec, Dean. I see it, too." Dean squinted hard and, lo and behold, he saw the light as well; a steady red flash winking at them from a distance. "Oh, Susana, there is a God!" Dean cheered. In the back seat, Castiel cocked his head to one side, genuinely puzzled. "Of course there is a God, Dean. Surely you've realized that by now?" Dean threw up a hand to silence the angel. "Not now, Cas. Not now."

As they drew closer, the gang saw that the crimson glow was radiating from the neon sign of a tavern; a small, hole in the wall by the name of _Campbell's_. The very thought of a frosty pint made Dean grin from ear to ear. "Oh, it just keeps getting better."

Dean expertly steered the Chevy into the parking lot, came to a slow halt, and then killed the engine. Sam let out a slow breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "Well, we didn't die." Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder happily. "I'd say that's earned us a drink." He swiveled around in his seat to face Castiel. "Cas, the first round is on you." Then he climbed out of the Impala and into the pouring rain.

The angel was confused once again by Dean's words. "I don't understand, Sam. Why would Dean want to pour alcoholic beverages on me? Is this another human custom that I am not familiar with?" Sam shook his head. "No. He meant that…" he stopped himself mid-sentence, he just didn't have the energy to explain. "Forget it, Cas. It's not like you have any money anyway."

As Sam pulled his weary self out of the passenger's seat, Castiel vanished from the back seat and re-materialized outside in the downpour. Then the two proceeded to follow Dean into the bar.

Dean Winchester had never been so happy to set foot in a bar in his entire life. In his line of work, not getting killed was a momentous occasion; so sometimes a little celebratory drink was in order. Dean considered this one of those times.

Sam and Cas entered behind him and the three men took a minute to shake out their wet coats before sidling up to the counter. The bartender, who had been busy polishing an empty glass, looked up and smiled politely. The name on his tag read **SAL**. "Evenin', boys. What's your poison?"

"I'll take a pint of your finest Sam Adams, please" Dean replied, taking a seat at the bar. Sal nodded and turned his friendly grin on Sam. "How about you, stretch?" Sam shook his head. "I'll just have a glass of water, please." Sal shrugged and turned to Cas. "Nothing for me," said the angel. "I don't drink. Or eat. Or sleep. Or go to the bathroom." Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay, Cas, that's enough."

The bartender stared at Castiel with a look of, what could only be described as, utter confusion for a few seconds before going to fetch their drinks. Sam and Cas each pulled up a stool and took a seat at the counter on either side of Dean. The younger Winchester turned to the older and asked "So what's the plan?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "We've got to get out of this storm. There has to be a motel around here somewhere."

Sal returned with a mug of beer and a glass of water and set them down in front of their recipients respectively. Dean nodded his thanks, then hoisted the frosty pint to his lips and took a long pull of his beer. He savored the amber liquid as it glided down his throat and waited for it's numbing effect to kick in. Dean always felt the need for a beer, or a Xanax, after driving in shitty weather. Over the course of his life, he had faced countless ghoulies and ghosties and numerous other breeds of long-legged beasties, but nothing gave him a worse case of the jitters than the mere thought of crashing and demolishing the Impala, his beloved baby.

Sam had always felt somewhat in tune with his brother, and at the moment, he could still sense Dean's lingering anxiety. It was almost palpable. He knew how Dean felt about driving in such a monsoon, and, personally, he didn't like the idea of getting behind the wheel and doing it himself. So Sam waved the bartender back over. Who would know the way to the local motel better than one of the locals? Sal gave him another kind smile and said "Finally decided to order a real drink?"

"Uh, no. I was actually hoping that you could give me directions to the nearest motel. We're trying to find a place to get out of this storm for the night." Sal's friendly grin faded. "Sorry, fellas, I'm afraid you're all S.O.L. Nearest motel is miles away; you'd have better luck just sleeping in your car." Cas looked from the bartender to Sam, then said "I'll take the back seat." Sam took a swig of his water then put his head in his hands, totally bummed. "Well, it's not like we haven't done it before." Dean's jovial mood was now officially ruined. "Well, great. Just friggin' great. That's just peachy."

"Cas already called the back, so dibs on the front" Sam said before taking another sip of his water. Dean grumbled a few obscenities under his breath. "Okay, hold up a sec. If we're bunking in the car tonight, these are the sleeping arrangements: _I_ get the front seat and Sam, you can have the back. And Cas, because you drew the short straw, you can just chill out in the trunk." The straw expression soared over Castiel's head like a paper airplane. "I don't remember drawing any-"

"Well, I may know of one place you boys could hunker down", Sal interjected over Castiel's nonsense. "There's an old cabin up in the woods not far from here. It's been abandoned for quite some time and it's in pretty sorry shape, but it may stay standing long enough for the three of you to wait out the storm." Sam's spirits had just been substantially lifted. "That sounds perfect! How do we get to this cabin from here?" A loud _SLAM_ from across the bar made Sam, Dean, and Cas jump in unison.

"Don't you screwheads dare set one foot in that God forsaken cabin!" Dean whirled around to take a gander at the bar fly who had hammered his mug against the table and so rudely disrupted their conversation. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his mid to late fifties. He had a thick head of dark hair that had been salt and peppered with age. He was of intimidating size; not fat, but not fit either. Just…big. His most astonishing feature, however, was his right hand. The real one had been lost some time ago, Dean supposed, and in its place was the most unusual prosthetic that he had ever seen. It was a hook, or a claw, or even one of those fake mannequin-esque plastic hands. This thing looked more like some sort of medieval cast iron armored glove. Something about it was primal, fierce. And it unnerved Dean on a whole new level. Sal let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"God damn it, not this again." Dean swiveled back around to face the unhappy bartender. "Jeez, what in the hell is this joker's problem?" Sal shook his head in frustration. "He's some drunk nut job that shows up from out of state every year around this time, spreading his crazy around to the locals like a bad cold. Sal glared at the trouble maker, who glared defiantly right back.

"Now Ash," Sal began gently, attempting to be civil. "We've been through this time and time again. I can't have you comin' into my place of business and spoutin' all your nonsense about demons and evil and magic spells. It's not natural and you're scarin' people." Sal stepped out from behind the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now you can either sit quietly and finish your drink, or you can leave." Demons and evil and spells? This conversation had officially captured Sam and Dean's attention.

The man named Ash stood up so fast that his chair flew backward and his mug toppled over, spilling the last of its contents onto the floor. "You expect me to just sit here with my thumb up my ass and let you send these stupid punks to their deaths?!" Dean rose from his bar stool and held his index finger up in Ash's direction, "Hold up a sec, slick", then he turned to Sal. "I'm sorry, did you say 'demons'?"

"Yeah, that's right" Sal answered without taking his eyes off of Ash. "The, *ahem*, 'incident' happened years ago. Ash and a few of his college buddies went up to the cabin for a weekend of drinkin' and screwin'. But the first night in, his pals caught a bad case of cabin fever and up killing each other, literally tore each other to pieces. Ash here was the only one who survived; the cops found him in the woods the morning after, covered in blood and half out of his mind. He told 'em that demons had done it."

By the time Sal had finished the grisly little story, Ash was seething. "I know what I saw," he ground out through his gritted teeth, "and what I saw was an evil beyond all comprehension. An evil that is ancient and powerful and deadly. A force that can't be stopped." Ash looked from between Sam, Dean, and Cas; his eyes were practically pleading. "Fellas please, if any one of you values your life, stay the hell away from that cabin."

Dean looked at Sam. The expression on his younger brother's face said 'it's your call'. Dean stared past his brother at Cas. The angel was actually smiling, thrilled by the thought of another case. "Sounds like our kind of thing. Right, Dean?"

With a decision made, Dean turned to face Ash once again. "If it's all the same to you, pops, we'll take our chances. The faint glimmer of hope in Ash's eyes flickered and went out. He stormed his way across the bar and right into Dean's personal space.

Dean inched backwards until he felt his back bump against the bar. He couldn't move any further, he was trapped with this behemoth of a man glaring down upon him. Ash pushed his face at Dean's until their noses were only mere inches apart. Now Dean didn't get intimidated easily, but, at the moment, this guy reminded him of a big, burly, high school quarterback of a bully, and Dean himself was the gangly, bespectacled president of the AV club.

"Fine," Ash spat, "but don't say that I didn't try to warn you." And with that final, dismal warning, Ash spun around and stomped out of the bar and into the rain.

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding and his whole body relaxed. "Well," he eked out, "that was slightly terrifying." He slumped back down onto his bar stool and waited for his jitters to subside. Something about that guy and his story had left a bad taste in Dean's mouth. It wasn't the fact that the man had sounded completely and utterly insane, it was more so the possibility that he wasn't. In the Winchester's line of work, if a random bar patron starts spouting tales of demons and evil cabins, you can't just write it off as insanity. At least not right off the bat.

But normal folks, those oblivious to the walking nightmares that lurked in the dark, could and would just see it as nothing more than the ramblings of a mad man; people like Sal, who just shook his head, muttered "freakin' wacko", and trudged back behind the bar.

"Well, do you think we're looking at another case, here?" Sam asked. Dean just shrugged. "Only one way to find out." Dean whistled for the bartender, who had already started cleaning another empty glass. "So Sal," Dean started, "How do we get to that cabin?"

The Cabin was a small, dilapidated, prehistoric looking little shack in the middle of scenic nowhere. The only thing scarier than the sight of the ramshackle hovel was the bridge that they'd had to cross to get there, which had been equally dilapidated and prehistoric looking.

The Winchester's and Cas stood huddled together in the rain eyeing the cabin, trying to sense any malicious intent emanating from its rotting wood, disintegrating shingles, and shattered windows. "Cas, are you picking up any bad vibes on angel radar?" Dean asked. Castiel shook his head. "Nothing. Perhaps that man was just insane."

Dean took a cautious step forward; when nothing jumped out at him, he took another, then another, then another until he had successfully climbed the aging front steps and was standing on the porch. He reached for the rusty door handle, but before he could even wrap his fingers around it, the door swung open on its own with a loud creak from its weathered hinges. Sam cleared his throat nervously. "Well, that didn't seem foreboding or anything." He realized as soon as he'd used the sarcasm that it had been a mistake. Because Cas decided to chime in. "I found it very foreboding."

"It was probably just the wind" Dean said, peering inside the darkened doorway. "Now, come on, are we gonna Scooby-Doo this place, or what?" Sam and Cas shot each other anxious glances, then reluctantly joined Dean on the front porch. Suddenly the idea of sleeping in the Impala didn't sound so bad.

"Well alrighty," Dean said with a grin, "Daphne, Velma, it's time to do what we do best." All three of them took a deep breath and then stepped inside.

_What Ash neglected to mention during his ominous rant was the cabin's cellar; the room where his nightmare began. The very room where the most deadly book ever written in human history was kept. But at this point, it no longer mattered. It didn't matter if they made that fateful descent into the cellar, or read from the book's gruesome pages. It didn't even matter if the entered the cabin at all. None of it mattered. The dark presence inhabiting the woods already knew they were there._

End of Ch. 1


	2. Chapter 2

*It's Sam, Dean, and Cas vs. The Evil Dead, with special guest Ash. J. Williams!

I am sooooo sorry that it took so long to post this chapter. Life has been pretty hectic what with finishing one school and applying for another, picking up more hours at work, and trying to maintain some sort of social life. *SIGH* Anyway, hope you enjoy!*

**Join Us**

_A Supernatural/Evil Dead Crossover_

**Ch. 2: The Cellar**

The Winchesters and Castiel had been shuffling around the old cabin for a little more than an hour and, so far, nothing evil had dared to rear its ugly head. "Well, this place sucks" Dean grumbled. He swept his foot across the floor and kicked up a cloud of dust. "Yoo hoo! Is anybody home?" He hollered, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Hello? Satan?" Sam scowled. "That's not funny, Dean."

Cas shrugged. "So, that gentleman was just insane." Dean snorted. "Yeah, insanely drunk." Unlike his brother, who was always jonsing for a fight, Sam was relieved. "So there's nothing evil here. Isn't that a good thing? Maybe now we can relax and get a decent night's sleep for once." Dean ran his fingers through his hair and blew out an angry breath, then visibly relaxed. "Yeah, I guess so."

Suddenly, there came a loud BANG! The three men jumped, stared at each other for a moment, and then raced to the other room where they discovered that the cellar door had been flung open…by itself. Sam gulped, "Okay, maybe I was wrong."

The brothers and the angel gathered at the opening of the cellar and peered into its dark depths. "So," Dean breathed, "that happened."

"Yeah," Sam said, "but how?" Castiel knelt down at the mouth of the cellar. "Maybe it was an animal." Dean shook is head. "Do you know any animals strong enough to fling a door open like that?" Cas gave it some thought, then answered. "Several. However very few of them are native to this region of the U.S. And even fewer inhabit this type of damp woodland terrain."

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to be patient with Catiel's inability to recognize a rhetorical question. "Well, thanks for that Encyclopedia Britannica, but I don't think that this was any animal." Sam plopped sullenly onto the filthy cabin floor, sending up a cloud of dust in the process, and put his head in his hands. "Well, so much for a night of rest and relaxation." Dean patted his brother's shoulder. "Sammy, we hunt evil for a living. When do we ever get to relax?"

Dean pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He tapped the "home" button once, causing the screen to blaze alive, then he placed a foot on the cellar's staircase and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's get this over with."

"Wait a minute," Sam said, as he climbed back to his feet. "You're not seriously about to go down there are you?" When the light dimmed, Dean tapped his phone's screen again in order to keep it illuminated. "Why not? Obviously something spooky's going on here. I might as well go down and say 'howdy' before whatever's down her decides to come up and do the same."

"Just don't do anything too reckless," Sam begged. Dean just rolled his eyes. "Me? Reckless? Pffft!" His phone at the ready, blazing at maximum brightness, Dean turned back to Sam and Cas one last time. "If I'm not back in five minutes…just wait longer." With that quote from _Ace Venture: Pet Detective_, Dean descended the stairs into darkness.

The minutes ticked by slowly. Five minutes became six, and six turned into seven. Dean had be gone for nearly ten minutes and had yet to resurface. Cas remained silent, but vigilant. Sam nervously circled the gaping mouth of the cellar like a lithe tiger circled its prey.

"This is taking longer than it should be" said Sam, as he stepped down onto the first creaky cellar step. "I'm going down there to find Dean. Cas, you wait here, and if I'm not back in five minutes-"

"I know, I know," Castiel interjected, "just wait longer." Sam rolled his eyes. "No, come and help." Cas nodded. "That's a better idea." Sam took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then followed the stairs into the inky blackness one shaky step at a time.

As soon as his feet reached the dirt floor of the cellar, a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and a husky voice cried 'boo!' Sam yelped (which totally wasn't high pitched or girly at all) and Dean laughed wildly. "All grown up and still afraid of the dark, eh, Sammy?" Sam rounded on his brother and socked him good on the arm. "Jerk."

"Bitch" Dean replied, punching him back. "C'mere, Sammy. You've gotta see what I found."

Dean led Sam through the murky blackness and into a long forgotten room in the cellar. The room was vacant for the most part and smelled strongly of dust and mold. Despite his better judgment, Sam inhaled deeply. There was another odor to the room; a heavy, iron rich scent.

Blood. Sam was all too familiar with the stench to determine it as anything else. "Dean, just what in the hell _is_ this place?" When Dean said nothing, Sam turned to face his brother but instead found himself staring down the duel barrels of a sawed off shot gun. "Christ!" he exclaimed, swatting the end of the rifle out of his face. "Dean are you insane?" Dean chuckled and set the gun aside. "Take it easy, it's not even loaded. Look over here, this is what I really wanted you to see."

Dean gestured Sam over to a rickety table in the corner perched underneath a _The Hills_ _Have Eyes_ movie poster that had been torn in half. Sitting atop the rotting table was the strangest assortment of objects that Sam had ever seen. A half empty box of shot gun shells and a prehistoric looking tape recorder were the least disturbing of the cluster of objects. There was also a nasty looking dagger with a handle carved from ivory or bone into the shape of a cackling skull. And then there was the book; a small, unfascinating tome bound in some sort of hideous looking leather.

"Oh, God, look at this thing," Sam said, picking up the book and flipping through its yellowing pages. The weathered volume was filled with gruesome pictures of monsters, demons, and bodily dismemberment. "Well it certainly _looks_ evil. Maybe that guy at the bar was right, Dean. Maybe there is something dark lurking around here."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe good old Ash and his dipshit friends were just a bunch of Satan worshipping cokeheads." Sam shook his head. Sometimes there was just no getting through to his brother. "Can we please just go back upstairs now?" Dean snatched up the book and the dagger, then hoisted the tape recorder into his arms. "Sure, we can go. But I'm taking some souvenirs with me."

"Dean, I really don't feel comfortable messing around with all this stuff." Dean waved the ugly book in Sam's face, taunting him. "Aw, c'mon Sam, look at this junk. It's hokey garbage. It all looks like something out of a bad B-movie." Dean shoved the book back under his arm and hopped up the stairs with Sam trudging closely behind.

Once back upstairs, Sam and Dean showed Castiel their big find, then the three of them proceeded to sit in a circle around the tape recorder on the dirty cabin floor. "Listen up, guys," Dean said, "this is the tape I found downstairs." Dean hit 'play' and the recording crackled to life and a stranger's voice filled the room:

_It has been a number of years since I began excavating the ruins of Candar with a group of my colleagues. Now my wife and I have retreated to a small cabin in the solitude of these mountains. Here I continued my research undisturbed by the myriad distractions of modern civilization and far from the groves of academe. I believe I have made a significant find in the Candarian ruins; a volume of ancient Sumerian burial practices and funerary incantations. It is entitled 'Nacheron Demonto'-roughly translated, 'Book of the Dead'. The book is bound in human flesh and inked in human blood. It deals with demons and demon resurrection and those forces which roam the forest and dark bowers of man's domain. The first few pages warn that these enduring creatures may lie dormant but are never truly dead. They may be recalled to active life through the incantations presented in this book. It is through recitation of these passages that the demons are given license to possess the living. _

Castiel reached forward and switched off the tape recorder. "What'd you do that for?" Dean protested. "It was just getting good!" Castiel glared at Dean. "We should not be messing with that book, Dean. It's ancient and evil and-"

"And gross" Sam interjected, staring at the flesh bound book in his hands with disgust. "Please, Dean," Castiel continued. "Take the book back to the cellar and leave it alone." Dean nodded. "Alright, fine. If it will make everyone feel better, I'll get rid of it." Cas visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean nodded again and then sprang forward, lunging for the tape recorder. "Right after I hear what else Charlie Manson here has to say." He pressed the 'play' button on the recorder before either his brother or the angel could stop him. The recording resumed:

_Tantra, a' mistrobeen_

_Asanta tande' ear_

_Manoan, manseez o'han_

_On' sopar, soman'ta rosa_

_Kanda…._

Outside, the sky began to darken.

_Kanda…._

The wind began to howl.

_KANDA…._

Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightening illuminated the interior of the cabin, followed by the roar of thunder trailing closely behind. The recording had ended.

"Christ!" Dean exclaimed. "I think I've actually got goose bumps. Do either of you have goose bumps?" Castiel snatched up the book and the recorder and carried them both over to the mouth of the cellar where he dropped them. The brothers listened as the recorder clunked down the stairs and then hit the cellar floor with a crash. Dean grimaced at the sound. "Cas, was that really necessary?"

"Absolutely," the angel said bitterly. "Those objects were an abomination, positively unholy. God only knows what trouble you may have caused."

"Oh, c'mon, Cas," Dean laughed, rising to his feet. "I was just screwing around. Just trying to liven things up a bit, no big deal." Castiel crossed the room in a flash and pushed his face into Dean's. "One of these days, Dean Winchester, that brash arrogance of yours is going to get you into real trouble."

This was the second time today that Dean's personal space had been severely invaded and he was starting to get pretty sick of it. Wordlessly, he shoved Cas back to a reasonable distance. Sensing an argument on the horizon, Sam rose to his feet and leapt between the two.

"Okay you two, just calm down. Look, we're all tired. There's another storm rolling in so we won't be going anywhere anytime soon. So why don't we all just turn in for the night?" Dean held his steely gaze on Cas for a few seconds more before turning away with a yawn and a stretch. "Fine by me" he said, already stalking off to find a bedroom. "Good night, Cas" Sam said, patting him on the shoulder. The two exchanged a quick, nervous glance before striding off in different directions.

So with a torrent of harsh words between friends averted and a literal torrent brewing outside, the three men went to bed; oblivious to the evil that they had just unleashed.

End of Ch. 2


	3. Chapter 3

Once again, so sorry for the delay. But here it is, the continuing adventures of the Winchesters, Cas, and the Evil Dead. Things start to heat up in this chapter.

Join Us

_A Supernatural/Evil Dead Crossover_

**Ch. 3: Trees**

Angels did not sleep, they did not need it. So, in the emptiness of the dismal cabin, Castiel sat awake and alone, anticipating a possible unwelcomed visit from the forces of evil.

When the trio first arrived at the rotting little hovel, Cas hadn't sensed anything out of the ordinary. But ever since the incident with the tape recorder, an uneasy feeling had begun growing in the angel's stomach like an alien fetus.

The aging floorboards creaked and Castiel snapped to attention. He spun around, expecting to see one of the Winchesters behind him, freshly awakened from the throws of sleep. When he saw that this was not the case and that he was still alone, he then realized that the sound had come from in front of him, not behind. Which meant that he wasn't as alone as he thought; someone was outside.

Without a moment's hesitation, he leapt from his chair, strode to the door, and flung it open. Once again, he came face to face with no one. The porch was vacant, but Cas was positive that he'd sensed a presence.

Cas stepped from the porch and into the grass, his steely gaze fixed on the dark woods. Something was amiss; he felt it, now more than ever. There was an evil in those woods and Castiel knew that he must confront it.

Every layer of soil of the forest floor had been turned to mud by the harsh rain and Castiel trudged through it begrudgingly. If the worst thing he faced in these woods was mud in his shoes, he would consider himself lucky.

"Hello!" Cas called, trying to lure the mysterious entity out of hiding. "I know you're out there. I heard you in the cellar." Cas froze when he came to a clearing that had been completely submerged in brown, swampy water; a dead end. "This is your last chance," he called again. "Show yourself or face my wrath."

What in the hell was he saying? What wrath? Much to his chagrin, Castiel realized that by spending so much time amongst the humans, he must be beginning to adopt some of their more ridiculous emotions, such as fear. This whole business with the tape recorder and the supposedly evil cabin had admittedly made him quite jumpy.

Maybe Dean had been right and all this talk of demons and spirits was nothing more than ranting of mentally unhinged bar fly. Coming to that conclusion, Cas mentally chided himself and began the long and muddy trek back to the cabin.

Then, something in the woods hissed. "Cassssssstiel". He whirled around, ready to face his foe at last, but the only contact made was with a heavy tree branch to the side of his face.

The blow sent him whirling and he plummeted into the mud. His eyes darted anxiously in every direction, scanning desperately for signs of his attacker. Still he saw no one. Another stray limb came out of nowhere and cold clocked him again with enough force to spin him over and onto his back.

The second blow must have knocked some sense into him, because he came to a sudden, horrific realization. "They're alive," he breathed. "The trees are _alive._"

As if angered by his discovery, bewitched vines lunged from every direction and wrapped themselves snugly around Castiel's throat. He clawed at them furiously, desperate for oxygen. When he managed to get his fingers under the vines and loosen them enough to take a breath, they propelled him down into the murky swamp water and held him there.

Castiel had been killed and resurrected time and time again. He's been shot, stabbed, possessed, and even blown up. Death by drowning was new and he wondered if, this time, his father would still feel obliged to bring him back. Cas wasn't willing to wait until the bubbles stopped to find out if God was feeling generous.

Cas dug down deep and mustered up as much energy as he could in his weakened state. Then he took hold of the bewitched vines and zapped them with his almighty angelic power, scorching them with holy light. They disintegrated instantly.

Castiel broke the surface of the cloudy water and took a deep, victorious breath. Angel of the Lord: 1, evil foliage: 0.

His victory was short lived. Out of nowhere, more of the possessed limbs ensnared him. They snaked their way around his arms, legs, and torso, hoisting him off the ground and suspending him in mid-air. He struggled furiously against his leafy foes and the invisible entity hissed again: "Cassssssstiel".

When Castiel finally laid eyes upon the source of the sound, he was instantly paralyzed with terror. He was staring at himself; to be precise, a much filthier, more haggard looking version of himself. This doppelganger looked disheveled; his hair was greasy and matted and every inch of his visible flesh and tattered clothing was caked in dried blood and grime.

But the most unsettling characteristic of this apparition were his eyes. There was no color to them at all; veiled in a milky white film and their gaze was distant and void of any trace of emotion. They were the eyes of the dead.

"What are you?" Castiel asked. The phantom smiled wickedly and then put a finger to his lips, "Shhh". Then his jaw unhinged like a snake's and a slimy mass of black vines oozed from somewhere deep in the back of his throat and out of his mouth. It was if he was vomiting tar.

Phantom Cas met Castiel's piercing blue eyes with his own milky white ones and then uttered two words around his mouthful of vines: "Join Us". Then, as if they'd just received a command, the vines sprang forward like a pack of attack dogs and impaled Castiel in the lower abdomen.

Despite the brutal beating that he'd just received and the crippling pain in his stomach, Castiel still found the strength to release a horrified scream.

An agonized scream woke Dean from one of the most peaceful sleeps that he'd had in recent weeks. He sprang from his bed, threw open the bedroom door, and almost plowed right into Sam. "Did you scream?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head. "I was coming to ask you the same question." Then the brothers asked the same question at the same time, "Where's Cas?"

From somewhere in the distance, there came another scream. "Saaaaaam! Deeeeeean!" The brothers raced from the cabin and barreled into the woods. "Hold on, Cas!" Dean called, not even sure if his friend could hear him. "We're coming!"

They found Cas alone; shivering in the dirt with a gaping hole in his stomach. "Jesus, Cas!" Dean exclaimed, lifting the half conscious angel from the ground. "Did something in the woods do this to you?"

Cas shook his head weakly. "No, Dean. It was the woods _themselves._" Sam knelt down and inspected Castiel's injury. "Cas, what do you mean 'the woods themselves'?"

"That man in the bar was right, there is an ancient evil here. It's angry. And it's powerful." Castiel gagged and then spat a mouthful of blood into the mud. "Something's wrong," he slurred, pressing a hand over the wound in his belly. "I-I'm not healing."

Sam looked to his brother. "Dean, he needs a hospital. We have to go. _Now_." Dean fished around in his pocket for the car keys and then tossed them to Sam. "Get her runnin', Sammy."

Sam leapt into the driver's seat of the Impala while Dean carefully loaded Cas into the back seat and then climbed in after him. "Sam, get us out of here." Sam gunned the engine and released the brake. Dean didn't have to tell him twice.

They sped through the forest, trying to outrun whatever forces of evil may be in hot pursuit. As they drove, Cas slipped in and out of consciousness, all the while muttering to himself incoherently. Dean kept a close eye on Castiel's wound; it was getting worse. Much worse. It was still steadily oozing blood and the skin around the puncture was already turning black and purple with necrosis. Peculiar little veins were starting to appear, crawling their way up his stomach just beneath his skin.

Cas slurred something sleepily and Dean only caught the tail end of it before the angel blacked out again. Dean shook Castiel's shoulders, trying to keep him conscious. "C'mon, Cas, stay with me. What was that you said?"

Cas opened his eyes and stared up at Dean. "It won't let us leave." At that moment, the Impala lurched forward violently as it came to an unexpected stop. "Oh, no," Sam breathed, his voice a hushed whisper.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Dean demanded, leaning forward into the front seat. "What in the hell did you stop for?" Dean went silent when he peered out the windshield and realized what sort of predicament they were in.

The river had flooded during the storm and the angry, rushing water had obliterated the rickety bridge. Their only way out of the woods had been reduced to splintered lumber, completely submerged under the black water.

They were totally cut off from civilization, trapped with and unprepared for the invisible evil that was coming to lay claim to their souls. One. By. One.

End of Ch. 3


	4. Chapter 4

Join Us

_A Supernatural/Evil Dead Crossover_

**Ch. 4: The Evil Dead**

_I know now that my wife has become host to a Candarian demon. I fear that the only way to stop those possessed by the spirits of the book is through the act of bodily dismemberment. I believe now to avoid this horror, but for myself. I have seen the dark shadows moving in the woods and I have no doubt that whatever I have resurrected through this book is sure to come calling…for me._

Dean switched off the tape recorder and buried his face in his hands. It was all a bunch of bull, wasn't it? It had to be; because if it turned out to be more than just some elaborate hoax, that would mean that he was single handedly responsible for unleashing an ancient force of evil that had nearly killed his best friend. And that was a hard truth that he was not ready to accept.

Dean's guilt trip was cut short by the sound of his brother entering the room. "How's he doing, Sammy?" Sam rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "His wound finally closed up. He's resting now; on the quick, angelic road to recovery, I guess." Dean nodded and leaned against the wall of the cabin. _Okay, relax,_ Dean told himself. _He's fine. Cas is gonna be fine; he's healing. Everything's good, just stay calm._

"Dean, what are we gonna do?" Sam asked nervously. "I don't know!" Dean roared back. So much for calm, eh? "I don't know, Sam. I don't even understand what's going on. Sam ran his hands through his hair and let out a shaky breath. "I think we summoned something. I think we woke something up and pissed it off. Cas got hurt because we screwed up." Dean mentally chided himself. "Not 'we', me." Sam wasn't about to disagree with him; he and Castiel had told him to leave the book alone. But when the younger Winchester saw the guilt in his brother's eyes, he couldn't bring himself to reprimand him.

Sam put a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean, you know Cas wouldn't blame you for this." Before Dean could utter a word of protest, the soft creak of a floorboard drew his attention elsewhere. As if on cue, Castiel appeared in the doorway. The very sight of him caused Dean's feelings of remorse to grow. The angel looked terrible; his hair was disheveled and matted in some places with sweat and mud. His skin was deathly pale, almost grey, and his clothes were caked with more mud and dried blood.

"H-hey, Cas," Sam stammered, momentarily taken aback by his friend's gruesome appearance. "How are you feeling?" When Castiel lifted his head to look at the brothers, they both took a horrified step back. Castiel's eyes were solid white, completely devoid of any color or life. Then, in a voice that was not his own (actually, in several voices that were not his own), Castiel uttered something that made both Sam and Dean's blood run cold: "You're going to die tonight."

When Dean found himself able to speak again, his voice had been reduced to barely a whisper. "W-what did you say?" Cas grinned wildly, wickedly, and threw his head back and roared. "WHY HAVE YOU DITURBED OUR SLEEP? AWAKENED US FROM OUR ANCIENT SLUMBER?" he bellowed. "YOU WILL DIE! LIKE THE OTHERS BEFORE YOU. ONE BY ONE WE WILL TAKE YOU."

After that dark warning, he simply collapsed to the floor, silent and unmoving. For a moment, Sam and Dean remained glued in place, too petrified to move, before finally rushing to Cas' side. "Dean, what was that? What just happened to Cas?" Sam asked, kneeling next to Castiel's still form. Dean just shook his head in disbelief, still unable to process what he'd just seen. "I have no freaking idea. I don't think this _is_ Cas."

Sam reached out a trembling hand to try to jostle his friend awake when, suddenly, Castiel's white eyes flew open. Before either brother had time to react, Castiel pounced and was on top of Sam like a rabid animal. "Pucker up, buttercup" he said before opening his mouth almost inhumanly wide and vomiting a geyser of blood onto Sam's face.

Dean grabbed evil Cas by the shoulders and hauled him off of his bloodied little brother. With great effort, he dragged Castiel towards the open cellar and then shoved his possessed angel ass inside. He then proceeded to shut, chain, and lock the cellar door. "That oughtta hold you, you bastard."

Dean turned to help his brother…and smacked right into Castiel. "Never been in an angel body," the thing called Cas hissed, "such power." Oh, right, teleportation. Crap. "Sam get the cellar open!" Sam sprang into action as Cas lunged for Dean. Sam struggled with the rusty chains for a few frantic seconds before finally flinging the cellar door open wide, just as Cas sent Dean soaring across the room. The elder Winchester crashed into a rickety bookshelf which collapsed on top of him, pinning him to the floor. With Castiel's focus on Dean, Sam saw his chance. He grabbed the not-quite-an-angel by the back of his grimy trench coat and pulled him away from his brother. He shoved Cas back into the cellar, slammed the door shut, and re-chained it. Cas laughed maniacally and began to pound angrily against the door.

Dean tossed the flimsy shelf aside and crawled his way over to Sam. "Now what?" Sam asked breathlessly. "He's just gonna teleport out again." Dean swiped some of the vomit blood from Sam's cheek. "Unless we do this." Using the blood, Dean drew an angel suppression sigil on the cellar door.

Then, slowly and silently, the brother's backed away as the furious banging and wicked laughter stopped. "The angel is weak," the whatever-the-hell-it-was hissed. "But I am still strong. Clever boys; you're much smarter than the last ones. There's something different about you." The cellar door creaked open slightly and the Winchesters cringed at the sight of Castiel's glowing white eyes and fiendish grin. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun."

"Well, that worked" Dean said as he paced the cabin floor. "Yeah, for now" Sam added, struggling to climb to his feet. As soon as he stood up, Sam wobbled and collapsed back to the floor. In a flash, Dean was at his brother's side. "You okay there, Sammy?"

Sam nodded weakly. "Yeah, I'm just…not feeling so hot." Dean helped him up from the floor and patted his shoulder. "It's been a hell of a night. Why don't you go wash all of this 'ick' off your face" he said, gesturing to the blood "and get to bed." Sam nodded again and trudged to the bathroom.

Sam had been in the bathroom for nearly half an hour and had yet to emerge. Dean had heard the sink turn off minutes ago; the silence left in its wake was almost deafening. An uneasy feeling began to brew in the pit of Dean's stomach. He sauntered over to the bathroom door and knocked loudly. "Hey, Sammy, did you fall in or something?" No answer. "Sam, are you okay in there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine" he answered much to Dean's relief. "I'm feeling much better now." In the bathroom, Sam stared at his reflection in the dusty mirror. He watched as his eyes turned stark white and a huge, menacing smile spread from ear to ear. "I'm feeling much, much better."

End of Ch. 4


	5. Chapter 5

_**Join Us**_

A _Supernatural_/_Evil Dead_ _Crossover_

**Ch. 5: The Hero Arises**

Over the course of the evening things went from bad, to worse, to total shit storm. Whatever demonic virus had infected Cas had wormed its way into Sam as well, and Dean now had to spend the seemingly endless night fending off his freakishly tall, and now possessed, baby brother.

At some point, Dean managed to give them both the slip; fleeing the cabin and making a break for the adjacent tool shed. It didn't matter how far he ran or where he hid, demon Sam was hot on his trail. From his hiding place under the shed's rickety tool bench, Dean could hear the _squish_ of his brother's footfalls in the wet grass. "Aw, looks like big brother Dean wants to play a game of hide and go seek," the monster called, mimicking Sam's voice to a tee. "Have it your way, Dean. Fe-fi-fo-fum, get ready or not because here I come!"

Dean knew that he didn't have much time until he was found. Swiftly, but quietly, he began searching the shed for anything that he could use as a weapon. He came across a small bottle labeled "chainsaw gas", but no chainsaw to pour it in. Eventually, he settled on a rusted axe before silently sneaking from the shed and back out into the rain.

As he stealthily made his way back towards the cabin, he briefly considered making a mad dash for the Impala and swiping some better weaponry from the trunk. But as quickly as that thought had occurred to him, it was chased away by another. This was _Sam_ he was fighting. Well it wasn't _Sam_, but it was still Sam. No matter what sort of monster had set up shop inside him, Sam was still his pain-in-the-ass little brother.

Dean swallowed the hot bile that had risen in his throat and made his way up the front steps to the cabin's front door. As he reached for the tarnished doorknob, a strong hand reached from behind and wrapped itself around his throat like a vice. "Tag, you're it!" the demon/Sam hissed as it slammed Dean into the door.

The cabin door splintered from the impact and Dean, once again, found himself sailing across the living room. His fall was broken by yet another precariously built bookshelf. Dean groaned as he untangled himself from the ruins of the rotting shelf. "Ugh, how many of these stupid shelves are there in this freakin' cabin?"

From inside the cellar, demon Cas chortled in approval. "Ooh, the big one is strong." Sam crouched down near the cellar like a feral beast. "You could be strong too, Dean. All you have to do is join us." Dean staggered to his feet and shook his head. "No way. You evil sonsabitches aren't getting me too." Cas fixed his dead, white eyes on Dean. "You say that as if you had a _choice._"

"We're gonna get you, Dean" Sam said as he slowly began to crawl towards the older Winchester on all fours. "We. Are. Going. To. Get. You." Then Sam and Cas did something that chilled Dean right down to his very core. They started singing. In unison.

"_We're gonna get you. We're gonna get you. Not another peep. Time to go to sleep."_

It was too much. The cabin, the cellar, the book, the demons, and now this quaint little nursery rhyme from hell; it was all just too much for him to take. It was at that moment, all of Dean's senses left him. He had to make it stop; he had to do something, anything, to make that singing stop. With a mighty roar, Dean swung the axe in a blind rage….and hacked off a lock of Sam's flowing hair. He watched in shock as the brunette strands fluttered to the floor. If that blade had been just a half an inch closer, Sam's head would be rolling across the dusty floorboards. Dean couldn't even begin to comprehend what he'd just done. Even Sam looked taken aback; as clever as the demon nesting within him was, it definitely hadn't been expecting Dean to take a swing at his precious brother.

After seeing the confusion on the monster's face, Dean decided it was time for him to use his secret weapon; to do what he did best in situations like these: bluff. He put on his toughest face and tightened his grip on the axe. "I really don't want to use this thing, but…but if there's absolutely no other way then, my God, I'll…" His newfound courage began to falter and he could feel hot, furious tears brimming in his eyes. "Now you listen to me, you son of a bitch," Dean growled. "You have until the count of three to get out of my brother, get out of my friend, and GET LOST! Before I go all 'here's Johnny' on your demonic ass!"

Sam and Cas shot each other a glance, genuine fear evident in their otherwise lifeless eyes. "One," Dean began. Sam hissed at his brother and shrank back like a reprimanded dog. "Two," Dean continued. "You won't do it, Dean," Castiel sneered. "You wuv your wittle brother Sammy."

Dean could barely bring himself to utter the word "three". If God was packing any miracles up his sleeve, now was the time to make it known. He needed a sign, just some small sign that his brother was still in there somewhere. But it was quickly becoming increasingly clear that he wouldn't be getting any help from the almighty anytime soon. He hoisted the axe high above his head and screamed, "C'mon, Sam! PLEASE!", then he swung the axe with all the strength that he could muster and braced himself for its impact with Sam's body.

"Dean, wait!" Dean felt the axe come to a sudden halt, but he didn't hear the sickening sound of its blade contacting with flesh. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Sam's; they were brown again. They were also big, round, and wide with fear, but they were _brown_ again. Sam had a firm grip on the axe after he'd caught it mid-swing and he was struggling to keep it away from his face. "Dean…don't." His eyes were freaking brown again! His brother was back.

"Sam? Is it really you?" Dean asked as he sank to his knees at his brother's side. Sam nodded nervously, ripping the axe out of Dean's grip and then laying it on the floor beside him. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me." Dean sighed in relief and pulled his brother into a tight embrace. "Oh, thank God. What in the hell happened to you, Sammy?" Sam laughed, almost hysterically. "What happened to me? Some monster just wore me like a meat tuxedo, that's what happened to me!" Dean gripped Sam's face in his hands and forced him to meet his steely gaze. "Hey, hey! Get ahold of yourself. It's over, okay?"

"No, Dean, no. It's not over." Sam rose and pulled his brother to his feet and tried to steer him towards the exit. "Dean, let's go. Let's just get in the car and go, before those…_things _come back." At the very mention of leaving the cabin, Cas decided to chime in. "Sam, Dean, wait! Don't leave me down here." The Winchesters paused and glanced toward the cellar warily. "Cas?" Dean called, taking a cautious step towards the cellar. "Is that you? _You_ you?"

"Yes, it's…it's me," he answered in his familiar monotone. "I can't leave until you remove the sigil, Dean. I'm alright, now. Please, let me out." Dean knelt down and was just reaching for the chains on the door when he felt Sam yank him back. "Dean, no! We can't trust him! Let's just get out of here. NOW." Dean pulled free from his brother's grasp. "We can't just leave him, Sam!" The ancient hinges creaked as he lifted the door and peered inside. "Cas, let me see you. I need to see that it's really you."

Dean scanned the cellar's depths for any sign of his friend, but couldn't spot even the faintest of movements in the darkness. "Cas? You still there, buddy?" Suddenly, a hand launched itself from the small opening and curled its fingers in Dean's hair, tugging his head down and slamming it against the hard floor. "I'm alright now, Dean," the demon cackled. "It's your old buddy, Cassie!"

Dean managed to pry himself free from Castiel's grasp, but was unable to pull himself up from the floor. Just as quickly as he'd returned, Sam was once again gone, and the demon left in his wake had a tight grip on Dean's legs, pinning him to the ground. "Should have left when you had the chance, bro."

Dean searched the room desperately for the axe and saw that it lay far out of his reach. He was officially screwed. He'd allowed himself to be fooled by these creatures and, in doing so, sealed his own fate. His brother was gone, his friend was gone, and soon he'd be gone, too. The last thing he'd hear would be Castiel's wicked laughter and the last thing he'd ever see would be Sam's dead eyes staring into his. Dean had already been to both Purgatory and Hell; if he had to die yet again, he hoped that, just this once, he'd get to go someplace nice.

And just when it seemed all hope was lost, it looked like the good lord had a little something special planned after all. "Hey!" A booming voice called out. Sam, Dean, and Cas all looked toward the figure that had appeared in the doorway. "Who the hell are you?" Sam snarled. Ash stepped into the pale light of the cabin and raised his sawed-off shot gun. "Get a haircut, hippie." Then, without batting an eye, he fired a round into Sam's shoulder and sent him flying backwards.

Dean didn't know whether to be grateful that this bizarre barfly had saved his life, or furious that he'd only done so by shooting his younger brother. He stood and backed away from the cellar just as the door closed with a loud _slam_. From somewhere down in the basements dark depths, castile howled in fury as Sam retreated through the back door of the cabin and into the night.

Safe at last, or at least for the moment, Dean paused to take a breath and address his strange savior. Dean stared at the older man with astonishment; whoever he was, he had scared the crap out of evil itself. "Who are you?" Dean breathed.

Ash reached over his shoulder and returned his shotgun to the holster draped across his back. "Name's Ash," he answered. "Former employee, current evil exterminator, and honorary Man of Letters."

End of Ch. 5


	6. Chapter 6

*So here it is, folks. The long awaited final chapter. Thank you to all those who have read my story and stuck with it through the long wait for new chapters. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

_**Join Us**_

A _Supernatural_/_Evil Dead_ _Crossover_

**Ch. 6: Banish the Book**

The Cabin had grown deathly quiet; the only sound that Dean heard now was the thunderous beat of his own heart hammering in his ears as he stared at the old drunkard in disbelief. "You're one of the Men of Letters? _You_?"

"Right-a-roonie, sport" Ash said, ignoring Dean's surprise and sauntering over to the cellar door.

Dean crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Okay, then how come the other members that I've met have never mentioned you? How have I never read about you in the archives?"

"I said that I'm only an_ honorary_ member; the others don't talk about me much" Ash answered, then immediately began jumping up and down on top of the rickety cellar door like a child throwing a tantrum and shouted to the creature lurking below. "Hey, asshole! You see what I did to your friend up here? You're next, you ugly son of a bitch!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Gee, I can't see why they've never mentioned you." Ash glared at the wisecracking Winchester.

"Oh, like you're one to talk," he snorted. "A fellow hunter, no, a Man of freaking Letters, playing around with the forces of evil as if they were a God damned two-bit magic trick. Not very good at our job, are we?"

Dean had half a mind to slug the pompous would-be hunter, but as much as he hated to admit it, he had a point.

"Look, thanks," Dean huffed. "Thanks for the help, but if you'll excuse me, I have to go track down my brother. Who _you_ scared off when you SHOT at him."

Dean began storming his way towards the back door when Ash called out "Don't you get it, kid? Your brother is already _dead!_"

Dean froze and turned slowly, hoping, once again, that he'd just heard Ash wrong. "What did you just say?"

Ash could see the utter terror in the elder Winchester's eyes. He let out a heavy sigh and attempted to broach the subject in a gentler fashion.

"I'm sorry. Truly, I am. But once one of the deadites gets inside of you…" he faltered for a moment as he suddenly began thinking back to his own nightmarish past. "Well, it's just too damn late. There is nothing left of the person who was already there."

"No! No, that's not true," Dean stammered. "Sam's alive. He spoke to me. It was him; I know my own brother."

Ash had turned away; his attention was now focused on a small silver pendant resting in the palm of his hand. He watched as it sparkled in the scant moonlight as he turned it over and over again with his thumb.

"They lie, kid. They try to trick you in order to save their own sorry hides. Believe me, I've seen it all before." He shoved the necklace back into his pocket and whirled and faced Dean with a hardened gaze. "The only way to help him now, to help his _soul_, is to put an end to this whole mess. By _any_ means necessary."

Dean began to pace anxiously as Ash's words began to sink in. There was no way that he could just willingly slaughter his best friend and baby brother. It couldn't be too late, there had to be another way. There was _always_ another way.

"The book!" he blurted. "That damned book is what started all of this, right? Well, what if we just destroy it? Then everything should just go back to normal, right?"

Ash shook his head. "No such luck, pal. Over the years I've tried everything to destroy the book. I've tried burning, burying it, and shredding it, but the damn thing has a life of its own; it keeps coming back like a bad case of herpes."

Dean ignored Ash's, er, colloquialism, and powered on. "Okay then, whet if we don't destroy it; what if we just send it somewhere else?"

Finally, it was Ash's turn to be flabbergasted. "Somewhere else? Like where, a library in hell?"

Dean grinned. "No, but you're close."

"I can't believe that I didn't think of this sooner" Dean said as he rifled through the trunk of the Impala and withdrew various items of importance.

"Uh, think of what, exactly?" Ash inquired as he watched Dean withdraw a large jar of thick, red fluid from the rear of the classic Chevy.

"Here, hold this." Dean shoved the jar into Ash's hands and then crawled towards the back of the trunk, frantically searching for the other item that he needed.

"What is this?" Ash asked, tipping the jar this way and that and watching its contents slosh from end to the other.

"Blood," Dean replied bluntly.

"Ah," Ash nodded. "Who's blood?"

Ignoring his new ally's concerns, Dean finally found the wrinkled piece of paper he'd been looking for. He climbed out of the trunk and slammed it shut behind him.

"We use this blood," he said, taking the jar from Ash and handing him the paper instead, "to draw a sigil. Then we recite the spell on that paper and presto! We open up a one-way ticket to Purgatory for our demonic friends."

Ash's eyes widened. "Hold the phone. Purgatory? That's actually a thing?"

Dean shrugged. "More like a _place_, actually."

"How the hell do you know about Purgatory?"

Dean snatched the paper from Ash's hands, folded it, and stuffed into the front pocket on his shirt. "Because I've been there," he huffed.

"Of course you have." Ash sighed as he turned and followed the younger hunter back up to the porch. "Let me ask you something else, smart guy. You obviously made it out of Purgatory in one piece; what's to say the deadites don't do the same thing?"

Dean threw his arms up in exasperation. "My circumstances were a little different, okay? Look, this is the only shot we've got. Are you gonna help me take it or not?"

Ash opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again. Instead, he extended his bizarre faux hand out to Dean, who, in turn, shook it wholeheartedly.

"It'll work," Dean said. "I promise."

Ash nodded again. "For some weird reason, kid, I believe you."

Dean had just finished drawing the sigil and was wiping the blood from his fingers when Ash re-entered the cabin with some gas powered monstrosity strapped to his arm where his hand should have been.

"Oh, God, what the hell is that?" Dean gasped.

"This," Ash said as he yanked the chainsaw's rip cord and brought it whirring to life, "is just plain groovy."

"Why on earth do you need that?" Dean asked, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. "I thought we were clear on this. I get Cas and the book from the basement, and you go find my brother and bring him back here. ALIVE."

"I'm familiar with your plan," Ash said, waving him off. "But a.) I never go into battle without this baby. And 2.) I promised that I wasn't going to kill you brother. I did not, however, exactly promise that he'd get to keep all of his limbs."

Dean gripped Ash by the shoulders and pleaded, "Please. Please, just knock him out and drag him here. Mild injury is allowed, IF necessary. But, for God's sake, no killing and no maiming. You got that?"

Ash pried Dean's hands from his arms and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, your majesty. I got it."

Dean made his way to the cellar and began removing the chains from the door as Ash slipped out the front door into the chilly night air. Another light rain had begun to fall.

Ash closed his eyes and tried to mentally ready himself for the battle to come. "Alright, Fabio," he whispered. "It's just you and me." With that, he leapt from the porch and began to trudge into the darkened woods alone.

Dean took the cellar steps cautiously one at a time; he swiveled his head left and right, looking for signs of Castiel's impending attack. In the dim light, he could see the book sitting just where he'd left it, sitting atop the dusty table with all of the other evil paraphernalia. There was no sign of Cas.

Without making a peep, Dean sprinted towards the table, snatched the book, and braced himself for the angel's attack. It never came.

_It can't be this easy_, he thought. _It's never this easy_. Nevertheless, his mission was, for the most part complete; he could worry about Cas later. Without a second thought, he began to retreat upstairs.

_It can't be this easy. _

Sometimes, he really hated being right. Just as he reached the top step, a pair of hands shot out from a gap between the steps and gripped Dean tightly by the ankles, causing him to tumble backwards painfully down the stairs and send the book sailing out of his grip. He hit the dirt floor with a muted 'thud'. He flipped himself over just in time to have Cas pounce on him like a feral beast and pin him down.

Castiel's appearance had only grown more gruesome as the hours had passed. His milky white eyes had turned blood red, and his skin, which had grown mottled and gray, was speckled with festering sores in various sizes and stages of decay.

"You have such pretty flesh," Cas cooed, stroking Dean's cheek with his rotting fingers. "GIVE IT TO US!"

Dean swatted Castiel's hands away and then kneed the angel hard in the gut. "Cas, I think we need to have another chat about personal space."

Cas doubled over and Dean seized the brief opportunity to grab the book and tear up the stairs and out of the cellar. It wasn't long before the evil angel recovered and was hot on his heels.

When Cas surfaced from the cellar, Dean was nowhere to be seen. The Kandarian demon chuckled silently to himself. "You can't run from me, Dean," he called as he paced the living room. "No matter where you run, no matter where you hide, I _will_ find you."

Cas stalked from room to room, searching for the missing Winchester. "And when I find you, Dean, do you know what I'm going to do?"

The angel's eyes flicked towards the bathroom, where he'd just seen and heard the shower curtain flutter faintly. _Now I've got you_, he thought wickedly.

"I'm going to kill you, Dean. I'm going to rip you limb from limb," he taunted as he approached the shower. "And then do you know what I'm going to do?" He snickered gleefully as he gripped the curtain and prepared to rip it out of the way. "I will swallow your soul!"

Cas tore back the curtain only to find the shower empty. This left the demon genuinely stumped. A high pitched whistle rang out from behind and the befuddled angel turned.

"Swallowed this, assbutt," Dean snarled, then brought the heavy tape recorder down onto Castiel's head with a heavy 'slam', rendering the angel unconscious in an instant.

Dean chucked the recorder aside as Cas sank to the floor; then he grabbed him by the ankles and dragged his unconscious angel ass into the living room where he left him sprawled out on the floor.

Dean whipped his brow and took a minute to catch his breath. Sigil: check. Book: check. Evil Cas: check. There was only one thing missing, now. "Where is that buffoon with my brother?"

Right on cue, there was a loud 'crash' as the only intact window remaining was smashed to bits and Ash and Sam came tumbling through it.

"Die, chosen one!" Sam snarled as he straddled Ash and wrapped both of his hands snuggly around his throat.

"You screwheads," Ash wheezed, "really need to get some new lines." Ash threw a hard left hook, which contacted squarely with Sam's jaw and sent him toppling over onto the floor seizing the opportunity, Ash leapt atop Sam and pinned him down with a knee to his chest. Then, he did something that made Dean's heart nearly come to a complete stop. Ash hoisted the chainsaw above his head and prepared to deliver a killing blow.

Before Dean could bark out a protest, Sam began to laugh. It was a cruel, twisted, earsplitting laugh that made both Ash and Dean's blood run cold. It was the same gleefully wicked laugh that had haunted Ash in his nightmares since he'd first heard it many years ago.

"You can't stop us, Ash," Sam snickered. "You always try, and you always fail. You'll be fighting us until the day you die, old man. And then, we will feast on your soul!"

And then Sam dissolved into a mess of menacing giggles, laughing maniacally and uncontrollably until Ash couldn't stand it any longer. He brought the chainsaw down hard and fast, konking Sam loudly on the head and knocking him out cold. "Who's laughing, now?" he spat.

Dean helped the weary warrior to his feet. "Okay," Ash wheezed. "Now what?"

Dean unfolded the crinkled piece of paper and handed Ash the Necronomicon. "Are you ready for this?"

Ash stared down at the flesh-bound tome with and odd mixture of hatred and nostalgia. "Kid, I've been ready for this for a long time."

Dean had almost completely forgotten. This guy wasn't the most promising hunter he'd ever seen, but he'd been fighting the same source of evil since long before Dean himself had ever been born. His entire life was about to change; for the better, Dean hoped.

"You know, Dean," Ash said, squaring his shoulders and facing the sigil. "If this works, you're not just saving your brother and your boyfriend…"

Dean opened his mouth to correct that last part, but Ash continued. "You're saving me, too."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He was truly touched, but this was beginning to turn into a major chick flick moment. Which meant that it was time to get this show on the road.

"Here," Dean said, offering Ash the paper. "Would you like to do the honors?"

Ash smiled and reached for the paper, but then thought better of it and lowered his hand. "I'd better not. I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to reciting ancient spells."

Dean just shrugged. "Suit yourself." He took a deep breath, and then he began to read.

_Ianua Magna Purgatorii_

_Clausa Est Ob Nos_

_Lumine Eius Ab Oculis_

_Nostris Retento _

_Sed Nune Stamus Ad Limen Huius_

_Ianuae Magnae Et Demisse_

_Fideliter Perhonorifice_

_Paramus Aperire Eam _

_Creaturae Terrificae Quaram Ungulae_

_Et Dentes Nunquam Tetigerunt_

_Carnem Humanam Aperit Fauces_

_Eius Ad Mundam Nostrum Nunc_

_Ianua Magna_

_Aperta Tendem!_

With a howl of wind and a blinding flash, the portal opened. Loose debris and clouds of dust were blown about the room and Ash and Dean had to shield their eyes from the rapid wind and blinding light.

"Now's your chance!" Dean shouted over the roaring zephyr. "Throw the book, NOW!"

Ashe pulled his arm back and hurled the book with all of his might. He watched as it soared from his grasp and into the glow of the portal, out of his life once again. Hopefully, this time, forever.

A soft moan from behind caused both the men to turn. They watched as Sam and Castiel's limp forms began to convulse and two huge plumes of green smog erupted from their mouths and were sucked into the vacuum of purgatory.

The Kandarian demons screeched and hissed in protest, and Ash just smiled contentedly. "Linda, Scotty, Cheryl, this is for you."

The last of the smoke disappeared and, just as quickly as it had formed, the portal closed with a wink. Realizing that it was finally over, the corners of Dean's mouth turned upward in a triumphant smile. "Groovy."

"Holy crap, kid!" Ash cheered and clapped Dean hard on the back. "We actually did it!"

"Yeah," dean laughed. "We did." He offered his hand and Ash shook it with vigor.

"We made a pretty good team, huh?"

"And maybe," Dean agreed, "if the time ever comes, we can do it again."

If anything good had come out of the hellish night, it was that the Winchesters had gained a new ally to aide in the continuing battle against the forces of evil.

Suddenly, Castiel's eyes flew open and he bolted upright, causing Dean to jump in surprise.

"Well, that was unpleasant," the formerly possessed angel said flatly. Dean knelt beside his friend and patted him on the shoulder.

"Welcome back, buddy. How're you feelin'?"

Cas rubbed the back of his head. "Sore," he answered, then looked down at his tattered clothes. "And dirty." Cas hugged himself and then visibly shuddered. "In so many ways."

Sam, too, regained consciousness quickly. He sat up slowly with an audible hiss escaping through his gritted teeth. "What happened to my face?" he groaned. "And my arm?"

Ash coughed nervously. "Sorry. That's, uh, my bad."

Outside the cabin, the dawn had slowly begun creeping in. Ash, the Winchesters, and Cas stood outside in the growing sunlight and said their goodbyes.

"Where are you gonna go now?" Dean inquired of his new comrade.

Ash's brows knitted together and his forehead wrinkled in thought. "Florida," he answered after a minute of serious consideration. "Somewhere in the sunshine state, there's a warm, sandy beach with my name on it."

Dean smiled; he liked the sound of that himself. "Well, if you're ever in Kansas, look us up. There's always plenty of room in the bunker."

"Thanks," Ash said, genuinely appreciating the offer. "And if you're ever in Florida, you can look me up. Unless, I'm with a good looking women. Then, leave me the hell alone."

With that, the parties went their separate ways.

Dean tried to keep his attention on the road ahead, but the silence in the Impala had grown unbearably awkward and he was about ready to crack.

"So, Sammy," he began, trying to break the tension. "Any chance you'll be able to forgive me for this one?"

Sam turned to his brother and gave him a weary half smile. "Of course, Dean."

Dean sighed in relief, all the weight sliding off of his shoulders. "Okay, great."

Sam turned back to the passenger side window and watched the trees and road signs as they went zooming past. "I didn't say anytime _soon_, Dean."

Dean frowned. "Right." He glanced back at Castiel, who hadn't made a peep since they'd left the cabin. "How about you, Cas?"

"Just drive the car, Dean" he shot back in his monotone manner.

Dean's gaze returned to the road as it grew uncomfortably silent once again. Desperately, the elder Winchester wracked his brain for the right words to say that would ingratiate himself to his companions and end the new round of unbearable silence.

"Hey, do you know where it's supposed to be great this time of year? Florida!"

The End.


End file.
